


Entangled

by JellyDishes, witchGender



Series: Cracked Foundations [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Genderfluid Character, Identity Issues, Just... questionble relationships all around, Like they do love each other but man they're kinda bad at it, M/M, Roleswap, Substance Abuse, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26395138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JellyDishes/pseuds/JellyDishes, https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchGender/pseuds/witchGender
Summary: In July of 2016, a person named Michael Shelley stopped by Pinhole Books for a visit.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley
Series: Cracked Foundations [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796284
Comments: 4
Kudos: 23





	Entangled

His name was Michael Shelley, but he didn’t like telling people that. The Shelley name belonged to too many important people. His father, for one, a famous novelist who’s latest work was currently earning him millions in every big-budget bookstore. Or Michael’s older brother, the brilliant botanist who never talked in anything but jargon and latin these days. Not to mention his grandmother... No, Michael much preferred to keep his last name out of the mouths of others, and his first name too if he could help it. That was the best he could do, given how distinctive he was visually; over six feet tall, a puff of curly blond hair, a liking for overly colorful fashion. He supposed it would’ve made some sense to dress down more, to cut his hair and try to seem smaller. But overshadowed as he was by the rest of his family, his sense of style was one of his few comforts - one of the few aspects of his life that felt like it truly belonged to him.

Things only really started to change for Michael during his first summer vacation in college. He’d managed to talk his mother into giving him money for a week out of the house, and he’d picked Morden on a whim. He spent most of his week visiting museums and small coffee shops, basking in the lack of attention. He kept his phone on silent, refusing to return what few texts and calls he did receive. It felt good, like he was slipping under the radar for once. He didn’t have a conversation longer than a few words the entire time. At least, until he met Gerard Keay.

In retrospect, it was an absurdly normal way for them to meet. But that wouldn’t strike Michael as odd for a long time. On the day in question, he found nothing out of the ordinary when a dark-haired, handsome stranger slid into the seat beside him on the bar and gave him a sly smile.

“Well hello there. Lovely evening, isn’t it?” God, what a corny opening line. But somehow it didn’t sound so silly, coming from this guy. Michael’s eyes roamed over the spiderweb tattoo covering the shaved half of his head, the silver rings glinting in his lower lip, the dark leather collar around his neck. Bit edgy, for a guy older than nineteen. But Michael could see the appeal.

“Lovely enough, I suppose.” Michael hummed noncommittally, taking a sip of his cocktail. He got an odd feeling that the stranger was watching him drink a little too intently. “What’s your name?”

“Gerard.” came the answer, a weirdly normal name for such an aggressively alternative guy. “And you are..?”

“Michael. And if you’re hoping for a hookup, you can give up now, because I’m not interested.” He didn’t like to be rude, but experience had taught him most guys in bars just wanted sex - especially if they recognized him. Gerard chuckled.

“That’s fine, I’m not really into one-night-stands either. I’m a much bigger fan of lasting connections.” Gerard had brought over his own drink, a glass of whiskey, and he sipped it before speaking again. “Are you a local?”

“No.” Michael admitted, relieved that it seemed like all that was being expected of him was conversation. “I guess you could say I’m on vacation. Seeing the sights.”

“Is that so?” Gerard seemed more interested than was entirely reasonable, pale blue eyes focused intently on Michael’s face. Michael was used to being started at, but Gerard wasn’t some wide-eyed weirdo from school. He was just a stranger in a bar, who seemed genuinely interested in what Michael had to say. It was both pleasant and unsettling.

“Yeah.” Michael finally answered, realizing Gerard was waiting for him to speak. “I think I might go home soon though. I’ve exhausted all the interesting things to do around here.”

“I haven’t seen you in my shop, so no, you haven’t!” Gerard fired back in a voice that could only be described as teasing. Michael raised an eyebrow.

“You own a shop?”

“A rare bookshop, to be exact. By the name of Pinhole Books. My mother started it, but she passed away a couple of years ago, God rest her soul. So now it’s all mine. Do you like books, Michael?” The question hung in the air oddly, as if it meant more than the words. Michael shrugged, slightly uncomfortable.

“Books are fine, I guess. My dad’s an author though, so it’s kind of hard to go into a bookstore without seeing his work and-” Michael stopped, and sighed. He braced for the inevitable rain of questions about who his father was, what he’d written, whether Michael was a writer too.

“Hardly anything I sell is even in print, so I don’t think you have to worry about that.” Gerard soothed. “C’mon, say you’ll drop by. I’ll give you our ‘cute face’ discount.” Gerard winked, and Michael couldn’t restrain a laugh.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Is it working?” The question was asked jokingly, but Michael honestly couldn’t give an answer. Instead, he just watched as Gerard knocked back the rest of his whiskey. “I need a smoke. Care to join me?”

Michael didn’t usually like smokers. They often smelled bad, and had bad teeth. But Gerard didn’t just seem clean, he seemed attractive, and Michael hadn’t had such a relaxingly normal conversation with someone in a long time. So he nodded, and got up to follow Gerard out to the smoking area. When standing, Gerard was shorter than him by about half a foot, but that was no surprise, most people were shorter than Michael. He walked with a sense of purpose that seemed almost too elegant for the thick, heavy-looking boots he wore. Once they were outside, Gerard drew a black packet of cigarettes from his coat pocket, sliding out a single black cylinder and lighting it with a silver, spiderweb-etched lighter.

“You like spiders, huh?” Michael asked, as Gerard took his first drag. When he exhaled, the small balcony they stood on filled with pale smoke, which smelled not just like tobacco, but something else, something Michael couldn’t place. Gerard smirked as if he knew a secret.

“I like spiders well enough, yeah.” Gerard held the cigarette between two fingers, with the grace and habit of one who’d been smoking for years. There was something strangely artistic about the smoke curling up from his lips as he spoke, and Michael stared without meaning to. “They’re clever creatures, you know. Most of humanity is terrified of them, but they hardly do anything to us. If anything, they help us.”

“Some can kill you, though.” Michael pointed out, just for the sake of arguing. Gerard chuckled and nodded in acceptance, taking another drag.

“Sure. But so can anything, if you think about it.” He gestured out to the dark street a story below them. “A stranger passing by on the street. A wrong turn down a road you thought you knew. A tiny injury that could fester and grow infected.” He brought the cigarette to his lips again, eyeing Michael meaningfully. “The world is out to get us, if you really think about it. All a spider does is... try to make the best of that world.”

It wasn’t a particularly cold night, but something about the look in Gerard’s eyes, the curls of smoke around his pale face, and the secretive rasp to his words made Michael shiver and hug himself. He didn’t feel like he was in danger - Gerard wasn’t threatening, he was just strange. And Michael honestly kind of liked it, even if he wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Is that how you see yourself?” he asked, eventually. “Trying to make the best of life?”

“Aren’t we all?” Gerard said with a shrug, taking one last drag off his cigarette before crushing out the butt on the metal handrail and flicking it off into the night. The oddly pleasant smoke scent lingered. “I’m sure you’ve done things that hurt others, in order to better your own life.”

“Well, sure, but they never work out.” Michael laughed. “One time I ran away from home, when I was, like, twelve. Scared the piss out of my parents, but I didn’t get what I wanted out of it.”

“What happened?” Gerry asked, leaning casually on the handrail.

“Well, I got picked up by police relatively quickly, kid traveling alone and all that. But I didn’t want to give them my real name, I knew that’d send me right back home. So I made something up. But since there wasn’t anyone with that name in the records, they assumed I was an illegal immigrant or something. They put me in a foster home.” Michael glanced out at the view below them as he chewed over the memories. “I wasn’t there long. My parents - they have money. My face was on the news. So the caretakers worked out who I was fairly quickly. But while I was there...” He trailed off, unsure of how to explain the feeling in his chest.

“Yes?” Gerard prompted, and the fact he was still listening so attentively bolstered Michael’s confidence.

“To put it bluntly, it sucked fat cock. The food was awful, the other kids were all bullies or messed up to the point where they didn’t want to talk to anyone, the caretakers were all cold and harsh with us. And they kept talking about what would happen ‘if’ I got adopted. Not when. If. There was this constant assumption that no one would want me, that I’d spend six years slowly going mad in that place, then get kicked out on the street.”

“I bet that felt terrible.” Gerard remarked, and something in his tone made a shiver go down Michael’s spine. “Like you were trapped, stripped of your agency.” Michael looked up, and he couldn’t read the expression in Gerard’s eyes.

“... Yeah.” Michael admitted, reluctantly. The rings in Gerard’s lower lip glinted as he smiled ever so slightly.

“I know how that feels. Not to get into personal baggage, but my mother was always up my ass. I imagine it felt good to go home?”

“Sort of?” Michael sighed, relieved that Gerard was only so interested because he too knew the feeling of helplessness. “It was better than the foster home, sure. But I still felt trapped. And Mum made my life extra hellish for a good few months afterwards, watching my every move and screening any friends I made to be sure they wouldn’t influence me into running away again. I never did. Well, until now. Does going on vacation with your parents’ money count as running away?” They shared a look, and both burst into chuckles without offering an answer.

It felt good, to laugh with someone like that. Michael couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so genuinely. As they both fell into silence, they listened to the cars drive by below them, and the occasional rush of wind through the trees. Eventually, Gerard pulled out another cigarette and lit it. Michael watched, but his mind wandered, thinking about the trip back home. To his parents’ penthouse apartment. To their overly-pampered purebred cat. To high-class dinners and forcefully polite conversation, and the probing questions about what he’d do with his life, who’s legacy he’d follow, who’s puppet strings he’d dance on. Suddenly, he realized he’d been staring, and Gerard was staring back. Michael flinched slightly and looked away.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t dress this way to _avoid_ getting stared at.” Gerard teased, though they both knew that wasn’t why Michael had been staring. “What’s on your mind?”

“A lot.” Michael shrugged. “Nothing I’d share with a stranger, if it’s alright with you.” He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against. “I think I’ll head back to the place I’m staying. Thanks for the conversation, it was nice to meet you.”

“Hold up.” Gerard slipped a hand into his coat and pulled out a small white business card. He handed it to Michael, who read the words _Pinhole Books, family owned and operated,_ along with an address. “Stop by sometime. I live in the flat over the shop, so even if I’m not open, I’ll probably be around. Just say hi before you leave town, okay?” He smiled, and for some reason, Michael found himself nodding in agreement.

“Sure.” Michael slipped the card into his own pocket. “Thanks, Gerard.”

“Oh, call me Gerry.” He waved his hand. “All my friends call me Gerry.”

“... Sure. Friends.” Michael smiled a bit awkwardly. The word was both unfamiliar and pleasant. He took one last deep breath - accidentally inhaling quite a lot of Gerard’s strange smoke - and turned to walk back out through the bar.

Gerard watched him go, running a hand over the shaved side of his head. He felt a twitch somewhere deep inside him, like a single spider leg flexing, or a hair-thin string being pulled taught. He smiled to himself, and finished his cigarette.

~~~

Pinhole Books was hard to find. Michael was almost certain that, if he hadn't had the address and been purposefully looking for it, he would've missed it entirely. It was sandwiched between two larger buildings, with paint peeling off the black door, and small, dingy sign with the shop name over it. The hours, which were hand-written on a piece of printer paper and thumbtacked to the door, indicated the shop should be open. All the same, Michael felt nervous, as if he should knock. He didn't, but it felt rude, even as he curled his hand around the tarnished brass handle and pushed the door open.

The inside was considerably more welcoming, though disorganized. The shop was narrow, and full of wonderfully tall bookcases, tall enough for ladders and footstools to be occassionally sprinkled about the place. Michael walked in slowly, feeling like the place required silence in the same way a library did. He didn't see an obvious front desk, so he shut the door behind him and wandered deeper in, head turning back and forth as he searched for Gerard. Eventually, he realized that he seemed to be the only customer, and calling out would probably not be seen as rude. He chewed his lower lip.

"... Gerard?" he called, only a little louder than his usual speaking voice.

"I seem to recall asking you to call me Gerry." Michael whipped around, jumping slightly as Gerard spoke from almost directly behind him. Gerard grinned up at him, hands in the pockets of his black denim vest. "Welcome to Pinhole Books. Can I help you with anything?" Michael couldn't help laughing at the fake customer service spiel.

"Well, I don't know. I'll admit, I came here looking for a person, not a book." Michael felt the tiniest bit of heat rise to his cheeks when Gerard's smile widened.

"Only one person in here right now, and that's me. Will I do?" he teased. Michael nodded. "Great! I've got some tea if you want, c'mon upstairs."

Gerard's flat was tiny, really more of a two-room loft space. The kitchen, living room, and bedroom were all the same, with a stove in one corner, a couch big enough to fit two people in another, and mattress with no bedframe in the third. The fourth corner was taken up by a door, which Michael figured must lead to a bathroom, or maybe a closet.

"Sorry if it's a bit crammed, I don't often have company." Gerard apologized. He poured them both tea in chipped, mis-matched mugs, and sat on the couch, patting the space next to him. Michael joined him, nerves zipping with excitement when their legs brushed.

"It's fine, I think it's kind of cozy actually." Michael said, truthfully. "But, didn't you say your mum owned this place? Did she raise you up here?" 

"No, no." Gerard laughed. "The whole back half of the store used to be a living space, this loft was my room once. After she passed, though, I wanted to expand the shop, so I refurbished the loft to be my flat, and made more room for bookcases downstairs." 

The story seemed realistic enough, but Michael couldn't help doubting that the shop was that profitable. He didn't want to be nosey, though, so he didn't ask. He sipped the concence of his mug, which turned out to be cheap black tea. It wasn't oversteeped though, luckily.

"Do you only run the shop?" he asked, hoping it was a subtle enough way of asking about income without seeming rude. Gerard nodded.

"I may not sell a lot on an average day, but people who want old books will pay a lot for them, sometimes. And Mum had a bit of a reputation in the community, so people know to come to me when they want something special."

The conversation lapsed into boring pleasantries. Michael appreciated Gerry's lack of interest in his family, Gerry seemed to appreciate Michael's company regardless of the topic. The couch was small enough that their thighs touched as they talked, and Michael's skin felt pleasantly warm. Gerry was easy-going, relaxed, welcoming in a way that Michael wasn't used to. It was almost startling when he checked his watched and realized three hours had passed.

"Oh, dear- I'm sorry, I didn't mean to take up so much of your time. I hope I didn't lose you any customers." He stood, awkwardly holding his empty mug, unsure of what to do with it.

"No worries. Hardly anyone just wanders in." Gerry stood as well, gently taking it with a smile and setting it on the tiny side table next to the couch. "It's really nice having you here, but I understand if you need to leave."

Michael followed Gerry downstairs, feeling awkward. There was something incomplete about their visit, but he couldn't put his finger on it. It wasn't like it had been a date, they weren't supposed to kiss each other goodbye or something. Michael's mouth stayed twisted into a concerned frown until, as they were almost to the shop door, something caught his eye.

A book sat on top of a low shelf, clearly having been pulled out for someone to look at, then set down without putting it back in its proper place. That left the cover visible; a yellowed, slightly crumbly dust jacket, with the title _Makeup Through the Ages: The Art of Glamour, Beauty, and Deception_. Under the words was a sketch of a pair of full red lips and a pair of eyes shadowed heavily in green, one of them winking at the viewer. There was no author listed on the cover. The book was large, almost as big as the coffee table art books Michael's mother liked to collect and leave out, but never really read.

"See something interesting?" Gerry asked casually, making Michael jump as he realized that he'd stopped dead to stare at the book. 

"I-I mean..." He shuffled awkwardly, turning away from the book with some reluctance. Makeup was an artform that Michael had always admired, but been too afraid to stray into, unconventional as it was for a man to wear lipgloss and blush.

"Ah, that one." Gerry seemed to have noticed what book Michael was staring at regardless, and he walked back over, picking up _Makeup Through the Ages_ and turning it over in his hands. "This one's been giving me some trouble. I know it's out of print, but I haven't been able to date it myself, and I don't think it's worth enough to bother another expert about." Gerry looked thoughtful for a moment, tapping on the cover with short, black fingernails, before suddenly holding it out to Michael. "Here, why don't you take it with you?"

"Me?" Michael asked, tempted to look over his shoulder in case someone else had appeared in the shop, and Gerry was offering the book to them. "But-"

"I'm unlikely to make a profit on it, and you seem really interested." Gerry insisted, smiling. "If you don't like it, you can send it right back and I'll put it on the sales self. But if you do like it, it's yours to keep. Deal?"

There was something liminal, about the beat of silence that followed. Michael stared down at Gerry, looking so beautifully out of place in his own dusty bookshop, offering a book that anyone else would've mocked Michael for enjoying. Soft sunlight filtered through the small, high windows, making the cover of the book look almost gold, moats of dust falling gently through the sunbeams. A strange sort of warmth filled Michael's chest as he slowly reached out and took the book.

"Sure. Deal."

**Author's Note:**

> Finally getting this beast off the ground! Much love to my co-author for helping me with this. Be sure to check out xier fic for this AU, Misfiled! It focuses on JonMartin.


End file.
